A simple mistake
by kara1990
Summary: Sherlock mistakenly receives a text meant for someone else. Turns out the sender is quite interesting. I suck at summary's, this is my first johnlock fic, i have no Beta reader, i have horrendous spelling and i suck a dialogue, but if you can deal with that i think you might like it! Slow burn, rated M for language and smut scenes in later y ideas welcome!
1. Chapter 1

**A.N - So, my first johnlock fic, be kind, it's been a while since i wrote anything ha ha!**

 **As already mentioned i have horrid spelling, so if you spot a mistake just leave a comment/inbox me and i'll soon sort it out.**

 **Comments are very much wanted ( hint hint ) as are any ideas on how to progress the story, i have an idea of which direction i'm taking with it. But any input is welcome.**

 **It's pretty obvious i don't own any of the credit for Sherlock, nor do i own any of the characters ( *cries* )**

 **so erm..yeah, go for it! ha ha.**

 **...**

Sherlock stared at the screen.

 _ **5.07pm - It was awful, truly mortifying! I couldn't get out of there fast enough, what sort of person says that to a prospective flatmate? Guess the hunt is still on, talk later! JW**_

He didn't know the number, obviously a mistake. Frustrating not to be able to deduce it properly though. He found that a text message always made it harder to deduce people, too impersonal, less chance to see their movements, their little give-away tells.

Most likely to be male, if the speech pattern is any indicator, most likely in his mid 30's.

But what was he to do now? He should reply yes? Let this JW know he had got the wrong number? He rolled his eyes, best to send a quick text then he could get on with his analysis of the decomposing flesh of this mouse.

 _ **5.13pm - It would seem you have the wrong number. SH**_

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, and engrossed himself in dissecting the mouse, he needed to get to its intestines without damaging the flesh too much, easy.

Hours had passed and his experiment completed, he was bored, no new cases, no experiments to check on, must set some up.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, surprised to see two new text alerts, maybe there was a new case after all? Eagerly he opened them. Oh. Not a case.

 _ **9.46pm -**_ _**Cheers for letting me know. JW**_

 _ **10.40pm – Don't ignore me Mike, just come for a couple of pints and help me get away from this bloody woman? JW**_

He had gotten the wrong number again. Must be a bit drunk if he's in the pub. Must be a bit not good if he's asking his friend for assistance. Best let him know he's gotten the wrong number again incase he's waiting for a reply from "Mike".

 _ **11.02pm - Wrong number again. SH**_

 _ **11.04pm – Bloody hll, wher Mike? JW**_

Sighing Sherlock frowned at the phone, how would he know where this Mike was? He shoved the phone on the side as he set about making a cup of tea. It beeped.

 _ **11.06pm – Hw do I mak her o away? JW**_

Writing deteriorating, he's more intoxicated. Surely he should know how to get rid of the womans advances? Unless he's too polite? It could be a possibility. It could be something to do, maybe he could deduce the woman via text message descriptions? It could be a challenge! YES! He would help this JW. He would find out what this woman was like and tell him the best way to deflect her attentions, then this JW would tell him if it worked or not. If it did, he could set up an experiment, purposely message a strange number, try assist them to deflect unwanted attention. He could make graphs, find correlations, statistics, pie charts!

He grinned as he wrote his reply. Not bored any more.

 _ **11.10pm – Surely it will soon be time for last call? Ignore her, she will leave. SH**_

 _ **11.12pm – She won'. I tried. s stroking my arm nd wanting come hme wih me. Help! JW**_

 _ **11.15pm – Tell me what she looks like, accent, is she with anyone else? SH**_

 _ **11.17pm – Wha?Small , blonde, dyed I thnk , pretty , had a friend but gone nw, sounds e south london, she keeps blinking aty me and smiling. JW**_

 _ **11.20pm – She's lonely, recently single most likely, find out her address and put her in a taxi home, see her to her door then go home yourself. SH**_

 _ **11.21pm – K , cheers. Will let youknow how it goes, stil toucing my arm. JW**_

His tea had gone cold, but he didn't notice. Let him know how it goes? He knows how it will go. The woman will feel foolish for being so forward while this JW is being nice to her. She will go into her home, feel a bit silly then go to sleep and most likely wake up with a hangover and feel embarrassed.

This JW character will feel like a gentlemen, go home and most likely proceed to sleep and also wake up sporting a hangover. Job done.

How would one go about sending a message to a wrong number with the sole purpose of getting them away from flirty people? How would one know which numbers will want to avoid the unwanted attention? Maybe they wouldn't even be in the situation?

Maybe he needs to somehow send his number around and hope people would get in touch with him when needed? No. Not his actual number, a secondary number, a new number, specifically for the experiment! YES! That would work, a new number. He needs to go out, he needs to go to the shops and get a new phone.

He had gotten all the way to the corner of the street before he realised it was almost midnight and none of the shops would be open. Disappointing really.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N - Second chapter while its still flowing from the ol' brain! Once again, i have no Beta, so if anyone spots a mistake, please point it out.**

 **I pinched a tiny bit of dialog from the show, i may do so in other chapters.**

 **None of the characters ( or bit of dialog i nicked ) are my creation , my mind could never think up such brilliance.**

 **Reviews/follows are hugely encouraged!**

Chapter 2

Surprisingly he had slept, not in the bed of course, but on the sofa. His neck ached. He must remember not to sleep on the sofa.

The shops must surely be open by now? He needed the phone, he needed to set up the number and make a plan. How is he going to distribute his new number among the needy? Maybe the homeless network could help?

Yes, that was it, he could give the number to the homeless network and they could hand it out when they say people who needed it!

He checked his phone for the time and realised he had another two messages.

 _ **12.014am – It wrked! Sleep ow. Tanks JW**_

 _ **6.30am – Got one that might interest you. Call when you're ready. Lestrade**_

A case. He hit number 1 on his speed dial and waited for Lestrade to answer.

"Lestrade, tell me everything!"

" Yes, hello Sherlock. I'm well, yes it's been a rough night thank you for asking."

"Facts. Now."

A sigh from the other side of the line, "O.k you impatient twit. You'll like this one, abandoned house, room locked from the inside, female body, no noticeable cause of death. Fancy it?"

Of course he did, did they not realise it had been an age since his last case? "Is Anderson going to be there?"

"actually no, we've got a new one, starts today. A Dr. Watson I believe."

"text me the address, I'll be there soon."

Less than 20 minutes later the taxi pulled up outside the abandoned house. The police tape was like a beacon, drawing him closer until he arrived at the door. He gave a small smile of anticipation. The game was on!

The house was in disrepair, the dust all unsettled from the idiots from Scotland Yard. How did they expect to catch anyone when they can't even avoid basic mistakes.

"Freaks here" He glared at Donovan, she scowled back. Hmph, bad mood from absence of Anderson. When will she realise it will never work?

"Sherlock! Over here, we had to break the door, but I had them take some photos for you beforehand, just in case you needed to see it. The body is just over here see? Bit of an odd one isn't it? Thought it would be right up you're street. Doctor Watson can't find an obvious cause of death but we've not moved the body so he's not had chance to do a proper examination. He did put her time of death to be around 11-1 last night and her age as between 20 and 25."

Sherlock just nodded, not looking at Lestrade or the man he presumed to be Doctor Watson, he entire focus was upon the wonderfully dead girl in front of him.

The new Doctor was right about the time of death and the approximate age. No obvious sign of death either.

Fingernails were bitten, nervous habit maybe? Chapped lips, chewed a little actually, another nervous habit. Messy hair, dull complexion, no make up, spotty skin around the hair line, thin, too thin for her build, few stains on her clothes.

He sighed, not a new case after all. "Lestrade you bloody idiot. Next time let the Doctor move the body a little before calling me. It's an overdose" He turned and strode out of the room. Pausing when he heard the Doctor mumble something to Lestrade.

"What's that Watson? I didn't hear you?" Lestrade sounded a little annoyed.

"I said I told you so. Skin was a dead give-away, the sweat too." The voice was warm, friendly. A little pinched with pain. Why pain? He crept back to the door and peeked in.

Doctor Watson was turned slightly away from the door. He was short, a little under the national average hight. Back straight, shoulders back a bit, short dirty blonde hair, tending towards a few hints of grey. And he was gripping a cane. Standard hospital issue, recently acquired if the grip on the handle was to be believed. Psychosomatic limp, he wasn't leaning on the cane properly. Stiff shoulder, injured. Oh! Oh of course!

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The Doctor shifted his gaze to Sherlock, "Sorry?"

"Which one was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Erm... Sorry, but how did you...?" He glanced at Lestrade who shrugged.

"Just don't ask mate. It's just how he is, bloody nightmare if he's bored. I've seen him reduce grown men to tears in a matter of minutes." He clapped Watson on the back, "Come on Doctor, let's get back to the station and get all this written up. Then Molly will want to meet you too over at the hospital."

Sherlock moved out of the way as they passed.

"Mr Holmes? Are you not coming with us?" The Doctor was watching him. His eyes are not quite blue and not quite grey. Need to be closer to compare them to the colour wheel in his mind palace. Best not to though.

"I didn't plan on it no." He rarely went to the station, he had planned on going to go get the new phone.

"you not going to the morgue Sherlock? Would've thought you'd want to have a once over the body,?" Lestrade pulled Sherlock's gaze away from the Doctors eyes. He had decided on somewhere in the Bl:0.87 area of his iris chart. Any less and they would be verging on green, any more and they would be too blue. He needed to be closer to see if they had flecks of colour near the pupil. But he wouldn't.

"Later. I need a new phone first." Lestrade looked puzzled, so he elaborated "I have an experiment to run. Need a new number for it"

I didn't seem to help. Lestrade still looked puzzled, but shrugged and lead the Doctor outside.

...

Later that night Sherlock was waiting for the new phone to receive a text, surely by now his homeless network will have found people to give his number to?

It seemed the longer he watched the phone, the more it mocked him. He was bored. Extremely bored, he needed something to do. Anything.

His eyes wandered over to his bookcase. His fingers twitching as he thought about what he had hid there. A new hiding place that not even Mycroft would find. He could. Just a little bit, no one would notice, especially if he stayed indoors. Or he could go to the warehouse where some of his homeless network stayed. They wouldn't mind him crashing there for a day or two.

He found himself drifting towards the shelf, fingers lightly tracing the spines on the books. Just a little bit wouldn't hurt.

A loud beeping dragged his attention to the table where his phone sat, he dived on it eyes hungrily looking for the message. It wasn't there.

Oh! His normal phone, maybe it was Lestrade? A case? Even a cold cae would be welcome now.

 _ **5.30pm – So how did you know that would work last night? JW**_

Should he reply? Might break the boredom for a while if nothing else.

 _ **5.33pm – I just did. You should have too. SH**_

There. Done.

 _ **5.35pm – What sort of explanation is that? JW**_

 _ **5.40pm – A short one. Why are you still messaging me? SH**_

Maybe the eyeballs in the fridge will have grown mould by now? They might grow it faster if he put them on the side rather than in the fridge. But he was sure the condensation inside the plastic tub that housed them would accelerate the grow rate.

He was tipping the tub slowly back and forth. The liquid was unexpected, it was almost slime like in its consistency , making it difficult to see if there was indeed mould on the eyeballs. His phone beeped its annoying message alert again. He set the tub down on the windowsill, maybe the evening sunlight would show something.

 _ **5.55pm – Does it bother you? Me messaging you I mean? JW**_

Well. This was interesting. A stranger interested in exchanging messages, just for the sake of it?

 _ **5.57pm – You are relieving my boredom. So for now no. Why are you messaging me? SH**_

Surely this JW had friends to message? He mentioned one didn't he? Mark?

 _ **6.00pm – You're interesting. What's you're name? JW**_

He paused before he wrote the reply. It wouldn't do for someone to be running around telling who knows who that he's messaging the worlds only Consulting Detective. Fake name? A fake name would work, but what?

 _ **6.10pm – Sam Hughes. And yours? SH**_

 _ **6.13pm – Hi Sam, I'm Joe Wilkes. JW**_


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N - 3 chapters in one day, ain't you a lucky lot! I'm running on the dregs of the tank now though my lovlies, so i highly doubt there will be an update till tomorrow eve, i've got a few ideas bouncing around that i need to try and get a rough copy of and see which i prefer.**

 **Rather surprised to see how many people have already bothered to read my lil' ol' story! And a few favs/follows! thank you guys!**

 **As always i have no Beta, so if you spot a mistake, please do point it out so i can fix it as soon as possible! And once again, Sherlock and co. do not belong to me... i wish they did, but alas it's not to be!**

chapter 3.

 _ **7.30am – So, what is it you do for a living? JW**_

Sherlock groaned at the beeping phone. Then gave a soft sigh when he realised it was from Joe. He hadn't messaged him back last night after he had told Sherlock his name. But what was he going to reply now? He was busy anyway. It would have to wait.

The eyeballs had bored him, no mold. Now he had moved onto suspending fingers in alcohol to see if the results would be similar to when they were suspended in water. He had several set up in the alcohol and several set up in water, he was debating on the merits of having a 50/50 solution of both the water and the alcohol to see if there would be a difference. He decided for it. It would be something else for comparison.

Would toes do the same? He might get some, Molly wouldn't mind he was sure.

But first he should message Joe back. What should he say, it was clear he couldn't tell the truth, maybe something similar to the truth? Private Investigator? That would work well.

 _ **7.45am – P.I. You? SH**_

 _ **7.47am – G.P JW**_

Fast reply, not working then. So a doctor. Not overly exciting, no danger, no thrill of the chase or the feeling of adrenaline when you solve a particular tricky clue. Boring.

…...

The shrill sound of the phone ringing pulled Sherlock from his mind palace.

"You need to come to the crime scene. Its defiantly one for you this time, i'll text you the address. And get a move on Sherlock."

He stared at the phone for a minute, a smile creeping across his face, then grabbed his coat and scarf, the phone beeped and he hailed a taxi. He was at the crime scene within 10 minutes.

Basement room, broken window, forced entry? No , shards on the outside of the building but not on the inside, broken from the inside, exit maybe?

Blood spatter on the floor, walls and the ceiling suggested a fit of rage. So would what remained of the head, bits of brain matter and crushed skull were surrounding the victim. Hit from behind on the first blow, hence the face down positing of the body, arms splayed to the side. Curious that the wrist was slit on the left, but not the right. The fingernails were missing from the right hand instead.

He hummed to himself while circling the body, mindful not to step on any of the brain matter or blood. Oh! Just look at that! He huffed a little gleeful chuckle to himself. Lestrade wouldn't have spotted it, not at all. But there it was, neatly tucked into the gaping cavity that once housed a majority of her simple little brain.

"Are you laughing Freak?" Donovan sounded annoyed, in fact she actually sounded like she felt a little sick.

Sherlock smirked, "Donovan? Come here a moment? I need you to grab something for me" Lestrade nodded, so she moved forwards with a sigh.

"Just there Donovan" He pointed at the little bit of paper, mostly hidden under a chunk of greying brain matter. "you'll need to lift that bit just there to grab the …." He trailed off as Donovan steadily got paler and paler.

She made an odd chocked sound and ran outside the room. He could hear the vomit splashing as it hit the wooden floor.

"did you have to Sherlock? She's going to moan about that all week now" Lestrade strolled over to look at what it was Sherlock had spotted. "I hadn't seen that. Hey, Doc? You reckon you can grab this bit of paper here? You wont hurl will you?"

He strolled over, leaning heavily on the cane as he did, "I was a soldier Lestrade, a bit of brain matter isn't going to faze me. Takes much more than that" He had to bend down with his leg at an angle so as to keep it relatively straight while he dug about to get the scrap of paper.

It had some slightly congealed blood on it when he finally worked it free, he handed it to Sherlock rather than Lestrade. Good choice.

It was blank. Nothing what so ever was written on it, the black light hadn't shown anything either. For the first time in a long time he was flummoxed. He had no idea why it was there, or what it meant. Was it dropped by accident? Or left there deliberately?

"what can you tell us Sherlock?" Lestrade was being petty, he was annoyed that the Doctor had given it to Sherlock rather than Lestrade. He was trying hard not to let it show, but he couldn't hide it from Sherlock.

"Victim is female, natural red head, around 30ish, most likely worked in retail. She was married, but having at least 2, no 3 affairs, one with a woman apparently. Suspect is about 5ft 7, size 9 feet, slim, anger issues if this room is anything to go by. You'll find if you turn the body over there will be more damage to it, but I can look at that more when she gets to the morgue."

He strode out of the room, intent on hailing a taxi so he could go directly to the morgue to await the corpse, he could ask Molly about those toes while he was there.

"Mr Holmes? Wait up!" The Doctor? What did he want?

"Could I jump in the taxi with you? I figure we might as well share, we're off to the same place"

Sherlock nodded, "you're paying then"

…...

Molly seemed surprised to see them arrive together. Sherlock wasn't sure why. They had hardly spoken on the journey, but it was a comfortable silence.

"Molly! Has she arrived yet? Can I have some toes? Only 4 or 6" She sighed, shook her head and headed over to the cold storage.

"How do you do it?" The Doctor was watching him, amusement on his face.

"i'm sorry? Do what?"

"You know. The thing you do. Find out everything?" He looked genuinely interested.

"You look but do not see, I look and see everything. Simple deduction skills really" It was the easiest way he could explain what he did, if he tried to explain it in any more detail people didn't tend to follow what he was saying.

The Doctor smiled, "well" he said, "It's bloody brilliant you know." Sherlock just stared at him.

"It's what?"

"brilliant, amazing , extraordinary , use what ever word you like" Smiled Watson.

"You really think so?"

"well yeah, why what do people normally say?"

Sherlock smiled, "Normally it goes along the lines of "piss off"" Watson just looked at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. Sherlock couldn't help but notice how appealing the sound was.

The body arrived, and as Sherlock had predicted, there was more damage, specifically to her chest, a cavity have been gouged over her heart, which had been pulled out.

"Holmes …." He glanced up to see Doctor Watson frowning at the site. "Im not entirely sure, but could these be burn marks? Some kind of acid maybe? Also, I can't help but notice that there is a possibility that some of this may have been done while she was …..well you know... still erm..." His voice trailed off.

"Alive, Watson, yes , it would appear that while he was digging away into her chest for her heart, she was still alive"

Watson scrunched his nose. "Urgh, sick bastard."

And Sherlock had to agree.


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N - Sorry for the short chapter my lovlies! As mentioned i am terrible with dialog so please forgive the hiddeousness of it!**

 **As always thank you to everyone who's readinf/following and hitting favourite!**

 **Reviews would be brilliant tho please? I need to know what you guess think! what can i do to make it better?**

 **Once again, i have no Beta , so if you spot a mistake, let me know.**

 **And yet again Sherlock and co are not my creation . meh.**

Chapter 4

 _ **9.02pm – I saw something awful today. And there was nothing I could do. JW**_

And what was he supposed to say to that? How bad could a GP's day be? Unless it was an abuse case, they were more common than the general public would like to admit. Most likely a child if he feels bad about it. Children always bring about more sympathy from people.

 _ **9.04pm – I am sure you did all you could. SH**_

There, that sounded suitably sympathetic surely?

The toes seemed to be wrinkling faster than the fingers, which was to be expected really due to their smaller size, but why was one in the 50/50 solution peeling? Was it a defective toe?

 _ **9.06pm – Meh. I just wish I could have done more. How was you're day? JW**_

 _ **9.08pm – My day was the usual. New case to work. SH**_

 _ **9.10pm – That's good? Where are you from? JW**_

 _ **9.13pm – London. Why? SH**_

 _ **9.15pm – M too! Maybe we knw similar people? JW**_

 _ **9.18pm – We don't. SH**_

 _ **9.19pm – How d ya knoo? JW**_

Writing getting steadily worse again. Drinking again maybe? Or could be tired, hard to tell just yet.

Strange that this Joe keeps seeking to communicate with him. They have never met and know next to nothing about each other. Although Sherlock has to admit it was a surprise to find that Joe is from London too. The odds of that happening were actually rather slim.

 _ **9.23pm – Wat area yo in? JW**_

 _ **9.25pm – You are drunk. Go home. SH**_

 _ **9.26pm – Not. JW**_

 _ **9.28pm – Yes. You are. Go home. Sleep it off. And get a cab. Don't walk while so intoxicated. SH**_

 _ **9.30pm – Din know u cardd. JW**_

 _ **9.33pm – Are you in a taxi? SH**_

Why did he even care? He didn't know this person, but he felt slightly responsible for him now that he knew he was intoxicated. He couldn't trust the mans friends, that Mark hadn't turned up last time, so he could easily leave Joe to walk home on his own. And Sherlock knew what sort of people roamed the streets of London at night, just waiting to take advantage of some ones drunken state.

He tapped the glass container housing the slightly peeling toe. It really was odd how it was the only one peeing. The rest had wrinkled as expected, but none peeling. The fingers were not peeling either and they varied in size more, and had been submerged an extra few hours.

His phone rang, its shrill ringing causing Sherlock to loose focus. He glanced at the screen and paused.

Joe.

Should he answer? He might need assistance? But why would he ring Sherlock?

The ringing stopped while Sherlock was debating. Problem solved.

…...

A few days passed, Sherlock grew bored again, the case was almost over, they were just hunting down the suspect now, he was an industrious fellow and had managed to evade capture rather well. Who would have thought he would literally cut one of his own toes off to change his gait? Quite the interesting men really.

He hadn't been one of the people having an affair with the woman, nor had he been the husband. He had turned out to have been a stalker, she didn't even know him. But he knew her. Yes, he knew her quite well if his flat had been anything to go by, it was a shrine to the woman. The latest affair must have been the last straw for the man and he decided to confront her. It didn't end well evidently.

He sighed as he heard his phone ring, without looking he answered.

"Mr Holmes? I need to see you down at the morgue. Erm... you appear to have been sent a package."

"what kind of package?"

"one that erm... well it _moves_ , we've not opened it yet."

He hung up, brilliant, how exciting! A package. A moving package. What could it be? He grabbed his coat and rushed to the morgue.

Upon arriving he spotted Molly sat at her desk eyeing a lumpy parcel wearily.

The Doctor was sat next to it, calmly watching, but his shoulders were tense, his eyes sharp and focused. Ready for anything.

The parcel itself was nothing extraordinary. Brown paper hugged it loosely, and it seemed to twitch every now and again, curious.

"Maybe we should get Lestrade here to look at it?"

"Don't be ridiculous Molly, It's pretty evident its not dangerous." Honestly, how do these people survive day to day life?

Once unwrapped it turned out to be a scale model of his current flat, it even had tiny fingers and toes in jars. Strange, no indication as to who had sent it, no note, no hairs or finger prints. Its was basically sterile.

A flickering caught his eye, it seemed to be under the tiny bed. A flame! What on earth was a flame doing there?

Then the bedroom exploded. Little pieces of plastic and cardboard flew outwards from the model, a sharp hard catching his cheek as it shot by. What did it mean? Why send him this? Who sent it?

The shrill ring of his phone tore his gaze from the burning model. Lestrade.

"Sherlock? Thank god! Where are you?"

"The morgue"

"Ok, right, good. Stay there, i'll come to you"

It took him less than 15 minutes to arrive, flustered and on edge.

He ran his hands through his hair and looked at Sherlock, his face grim. "Someone blew up the bedroom of you're flat." Then he noticed the still smoking model, "What's that?"

"A scale model of my flat, it too just had a fire in the bedroom."

"who sent it?"

Sherlock sighed, it was painfully obvious that there was no note. He wouldn't even dignify it with an answer, in fact, he should start to look for a new flat.

"Watson. Come with me, we're off to view a flat"

The Doctor looked confused, "What? We?"

"Yes, me and you, come along, I have my eye on one already" He strode towards the door, knowing that the good Doctor would follow in a moment, it would be useful to have a flatmate again.


End file.
